You Don't Know Jack
by rev lady mal
Summary: Wherein England is given the task to meet the mysterious man who made American space travel possible, and his curious relationship with the British occult community in the 1940's
1. Chapter 1

May 10, 1941

"Time has a peculiar way of moving." England thought to himself. The sign by the side of the road welcomed him to the Duchy of Cornwall as his headlights illuminated it, but he gave it little notice while he mentally went over the report he would give to the secret agent he was en route to meet. London was burning again, but it was a relief to have some good news to report. Operation Mistletoe was a complete and total success. The nights robed and cloaked in Ashdown Forest dancing around an effigy of Rudolph Hess with every magically inclined person in the United Kingdom – including noted members of the peerage and the royal family - had been worth it. England had felt emotionally and magically charged with the large assembly of people there and wondered, even feared whether the rituals would work, but Agent 666 never doubted their success for a moment. Like all magical workings there had been reprisals; damage and casualty reports from London still poured in to Number 10 as he motored closer to Torquay. Once the German high command found out who had defected tonight … England felt sure this would be the last time Germany rained hell from above. London burned, but Germany suffered an even greater loss.

It still felt surreal that only a few hours before, England and Agent 007 had occupied the small war offices at Chequers receiving reports about the latest air raid from Number 10 while his boss watched a Marx Brothers movie in the hall. He had been invited to watch, but he didn't care much for American comedy and decided instead to re-read the stack of correspondence from the Fraternity of Inner Light and the battles they waged against Germany on the astral plane.

_"It was possible to see the Invisible Helpers at work as innum erable shadowy presences… Over all was the iridescent dome of protection guarded by great angelic presences. These are among the things we have been visualising and building on the astral, and at the moment of testing it was a wonderful experience to see how potent and tangible they were… there were no casualties. This is the second time this has happened in our vicinity. That there are powerful forces at work can hardly be denied…"_

He especially liked the visual of astral warriors armed with swords attacking the enemy. England had joined them on a few of these astral psychic attacks; he especially enjoyed the image of his sword splitting open the skull of a certain tall, well groomed blonde. The smirk on his face grew. "I hope you had the worst headache, you muscle bound-"

There was a light rapping sound at the door. England dropped the stack of letters into the open folder on his desk and closed it. "Come in." The smirk vanished as his personal assistant entered the room, a small piece of paper in his hand.

"Sir, a Messerschmidt was confirmed heading toward the coast of Scotland. He handed the report to England, who quickly scanned over the written words scribbled over the code.

"Only one?"

"Yes sir, a single craft."

England worked to keep his expression free of emotion. "Very good, has 007 been informed?"

"Yes sir."

Another knock at the door, and Agent 007 entered before waiting for a response. England gave the assistant a glance of dismissal and waited for him to leave before speaking.

"Did we actually pull it off, is it him?" 007 asked.

"Still unconfirmed, but who else would it be today of all days?" England's casual smile clashed with the tone of caution in his voice.

"So, do you think _he_ knows yet?"

"Of course, the only question is who was the poor bastard who told him, and are they still breathing?" England allowed himself to imagine it was Germany honored with that task.

"Right," 007 snickered. "Premature for a celebratory drink?"

"Hopefully not for long."

"Good good!" 007 helped himself to a chair in the sitting area next to England's desk. "The old man still has it in him. I know his rituals at Ashdown Forest were very effective; you also have a flair for theatrics that put everyone in the right frame of mind for the work."

"No, it was your astrological charts that really convinced him, I am sure of that. Good thing for us Hess doesn't scratch his arse without consulting one first." England's smile widened. It was true, 007 drew up superb planetary charts, and with interpretations so convincing, and England believed the man sitting in his office somehow channeled the original 007 into his work.

There was another knock, England and the secret agent exchanged glances before he spoke. "Enter."

The assistant entered quickly and handed him another deciphered message. "The Messerschmidt had only the pilot. He parachuted out and the plane crashed. Sir." The assistant added, "He specifically asked for the duke of Hamilton, and happily accepted the offer of a glass of milk."

007 had sat forward in his chair when the assistant walked in with his report. Now he sat back and covered his broad grin with his fingers, looking away from England and the assistant as he took the offered slip of paper. When they were alone again England quickly read over the report before handing it to the other agent. "Horn, he told them his name was Albert Horn."

"Riiight." 007 chuckled, "I wish I could have been there when he told the Guard that with his German accent. Good God man, do you realize it worked? Rudolph Hess, Germany's second in command, is on British soil right now."

"Aye, he is. Now we can have that drink." England moved to the small cabinet he used as a bar and poured scotch into two glasses.

"Someone needs to let the old man know." 007 replied, "Maybe they will treat him better after this."

"I told him I would come straight away as soon as we had word Operation Mistletoe was a success." England grinned. "But it wouldn't surprise me if the bastard already knows, because he had a vision or the right tarot card came up when he thought about Hess and farted."

007 couldn't hold back the snort of laughter. "Quite so. Say, when you get back will you have time to have another chat about the original 007?"

"It would be my pleasure." England replied, holding his glass up to the portrait of George VI. "To the King"

"To the King," 007 echoed. When they both finished their toast, he added. "I wanted to ask you more about his travels abroad."

"Of course." England answered, setting down his glass. "But it will have to wait until I return. Will afternoon tea tomorrow be soon enough?"

OXOX

England didn't need to see the old man's arms to know the track marks were there. He mused over this as he watched Agent 666 come into the small lounge room still unrolling and buttoning his left sleeve. "Ninety three," England greeted the Master Therion

"Ninety three," 666 returned the greeting, his body looked frail, but his voice still carried the old strength. "It's Hess, they're sure?" He asked, slowly settling his pain-ridden body down in an old chair. England noted the threadbare armrests and mused over how they were the perfect allegory for this man's current living situation.

"Quite sure. He gave a false name, but it's confirmed, he is Hess." England turned away from the window and moved to the other chair. "He's on his way to Wales."

"I want to interview him." 666 used that tone that meant he wouldn't take no for an answer. "We leaked that I wanted to meet him personally, so let's carry the charade to the full and let me interrogate him. You tell that old warmonger boss of yours I want to talk to him."

"That will be difficult, but I will ask 007 to see to it." England sat when 666 motioned for him to do so. "Despite the work that went into Operation Mistletoe, MI 6 still won't publicly acknowledge it. Members of the royal family were at Ashdown with us, if that ever leaked out … "

"Rubbish!" 666 bellowed, cutting England off. "Because of me, Rudolph Hess is in our hands. Do you know what this means for Hitler, or Himmler? Brainless hack!" The old man's face broke into an evil leer. "By the way, what was the cigar sucking old warhorse doing when he heard the news?"

England gave him a bland look before replying, "Watching a Marx Brothers picture; _Go West_."

The old man's leer grew even more sinister; his eyes glittered evilly as they took in England's blank expression. "How apropos." He spoke cryptically; rephrasing a question asked before he went on his tangent over England's boss. "Do you know what tonight's development means for the German high command?"

"It means they're finished with any plans for coming across the channel and Germany will move that massive army of his east instead." England thought about the rumors they had been hearing for weeks about that. Fortunately, Russia's boss refused to believe Germany's boss could be that stupid. "If anyone can work it out, it will be 007. You will get your interview with Hess."

"Capital, capital!" 666 replied. "It's the least they can do, considering the great work I just did for them."

"Work we all did, you crazy old addict." England thought to himself. He watched the telltale signs of the heroin taking hold over the elderly man; the lines on his jaundiced face smoothed out and his eyes took on some of their old brightness. He was beyond using it for the high; he needed it for pain management now. "Yes, Operation Mistletoe was a resounding success. We're all pleased with the results."

"As am I. I have two other missions I want to suggest to MI6. I know if I have their support they will have the same success as this one. In the meantime, I am glad you're here, now that the operation is done and Hess is in our hands, I have some personal business for you to attend to."

England gave him a quizzical look. "Personal business sir? I was told my next mission involved investigating Germany smuggling drugs through Dublin."

666 gave him one of his looks. "I need you to go to California."

England's expression immediately showed his shock and derision. "C-California? What the devil for? Can't your man in the United States go to California for you? There is a war going on which means I'm quite busy."

The old man laughed, pounding on the chair's armrest; sending a cloud of dust into the air around him. "Precisely! The Devil! I need you to go out there and meet someone. He took his Minerval a few months ago but he shows promise; more promise than the wanker currently running Agape Lodge."

"And who told you he shows so much promise?" England asked, musing over what drama the old man could be creating with the only active OTO lodge left on the planet. If there were issues with drama and members of the group not getting along, one didn't need to guess whom the source of it was. 666 had a peculiarly lethal sense of humor.

"The wanker currently running Agape Lodge." 666 answered.

"Beg pardon sir, but someone who only recently took his Minerval, surely he has years of study and training yet … unless he is a Freemason or belongs to some other fraternity. Who is this man, what does he do?"

The old man smiled, "Rockets. He builds test rockets."

"A scientist." England thought about this. If he were involved with rocketry, then the American military may very well be about, as well as spies for every other country. This didn't sound good at all. "Is he involved with that other rocket scientist in Roswell, New Mexico … what was his name … Goddard?" England knew for a fact that America spent a great deal of time at Roswell, and if at all possible he wanted to avoid the prat if he did end up on the other side of the Atlantic.

"How the hell should I know? I don't keep up on American rocketry! Just go out there and find out what you can and report back to me."

England let out a long sigh. "Fine, I will take care of it."

"Excellent!" 666 practically shouted, opening a small silver case setting on the small table next to his chair. "Now, celebrate with me."

Watching the old many expertly sift a small pile of white powder poured from a vial into two straight lines made England think back about the mission to Dublin he had been briefed on just this morning. "You know, this probably came by way of Germany via Ireland."

"That's how I know it's good quality." 666 quipped as he held the case up to his face and inhaled the rail through a short straw. Passing the mirrored case to England, he reclined back in his ancient, frayed wingback and waited for the drug to enter his system. "Ah, very good indeed. I expect you to leave for America as soon as possible. I would go myself but … I hate California with a passion. All facade, no real soul there."

England lifted his head and put the straw back in its compartment in the case. He knew how long before the drug would affect him, so he took these few moments of clarity to ask one more question. "May I inquire for the man's name?"

"Parsons, John Whiteside Parsons."

"Parsons." England echoed; euphoria already spreading through his body as the drug took hold of his senses. He didn't stay long after that, and made his goodbyes before the old man felt good enough to imbibe in something else. Even with the cocaine in his system, he wasn't at all happy with this task. There was a man already on that side of the Atlantic who did the old man's work in America, and he was much closer to this Parsons than England was. He knew thought without checking that the mission to Dublin was already assigned to someone else, and whether he liked it or not, he would be on the next transatlantic flight to America.

Once England got into the car to drive back to London He finally allowed himself to think what he wouldn't dare while in the Master Therion's home. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to be _Cefalù_ all over again?"

Author's Note - May 10, 1941 was the last night of the Blitz. Many believe one of the main reasons was the defection of Rudolph Hess on the same night. Nine days later, the German high command received word from Adolph Hitler the invasion of the Soviet Union would commence in a matter of weeks.

Agent 007 – Ian Fleming, the famous author of the James Bond novels. He worked as an agent during the war and is believed to be the one who drew up fake astrological charts that convinced Hess to defect on May 10, 1941. The character James Bond is based on the original 007, John Dee. Dee was Queen Elizabeth the first's personal astrologer, a brilliant mathematician and cartographer who traveled extensively in her Majesty's Secret Service. Dee is also responsible for creating (with the help of seer Edward Kelley) the angelic language that is the basis for Enochian Magic.

Agent 666 – Aleister Crowley, the notorious occultist once labeled by the British press as "the wickedest man in the world." He was a frail old drug addict during World War II, but his mind was still sharp and it is through his personal writings and the writings of others we have the story of "Operation Mistletoe." No official government record of this particular wartime effort exists, but the story goes that it was the work of the occult community in England that convinced Hitler not to invade.


	2. Chapter 2

May 14, 1941

The moon was two days past full when England arrived in New York City. After recovering from the shock of seeing women wearing stockings and make up he found himself hyperventilating from panic when he saw the city lights blazing into the night sky. He closed the blinds tight once inside his hotel room to block the radiance of the city landscape. He could handle the city noise that penetrated his hotel room; London was just as noisy. The lights however never let him sleep for fear of German bombs raining down on such a well-lit target.

The next morning as he stepped bleary eyed out of the lift into the lobby of the hotel he found himself immersed into a noisy crowd of news reporters jockeying for position to hear a group of men from Japan speak; It took a moment before England recognized who they were. Japan's version of Gandhi, Dr. Toyohiko Kagawa and Bishop Yoshimune Abe was there appealing to the American people to not go to war with Japan. England was all too aware of the actions of his boss and America's on that matter, and future plans for more action, but there wasn't time to linger, he had a plane to catch. As he stepped away from the reporters toward the door he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Japan standing there with his usual stoic expression. England could tell with a glance however he was quite irritated. 

"Hello, Japan." England greeted his old friend.

Japan's expression didn't change. "Stop encouraging him."

"What? I don't know whom you mean."

"You know perfectly well, you're the one behind America causing me problems."

"I assure you I am not, old friend." England replied. He knew fully what was happening, and going to continue happening in the future. "I haven't spoken to America in months. He's been incognito for quite a while, and I'm here on personal business."

"Personal business," Japan's eyebrows went up. "In the middle of a war in Europe and you claim you are on personal business?"

England shrugged, giving him a small smile. "Indeed, that is the truth. Is your business here official, or personal?"

"I am here as an observer." This was Japan's polite way of saying none of your business.

England's smile remained. "Beg pardon, but I have a plane to catch. We need to meet under better circumstances, supper perhaps?"

Japan's face had returned to its usual noncommittal expression. "That sounds pleasant." He turned and rejoined the delegation still taking questions from the press.

England hailed a taxi and caught his flight to California. The trip was uneventful; Agent 666 provided him with a dossier on Parsons as well as copies of the correspondence between the members of Agape Lodge. There were some letters there from the Master Therion's man in America who usually handled these things. England could only speculate why he didn't handle this business too; the man was completely trustworthy. The letters contained the usual backbiting and gossip that pervaded in any occult group. There was plenty of bickering over who was sleeping with who for favors with the elders, and complaints about incompetence perceived among the members of the leadership – he had seen it all before. It bored England to the point he only bothered reading a few before moving on to the information about John Parsons.

He gave that information a quick skim before putting it away and pulled out his copy of _The Hobbit_. Despite all the reports of praise about his potential, England hardly considered a young man who had just taken his Minerval worthy of so much attention. Let him prove himself before handing him the leadership, England mused critically. He had seen 666 get excited over new recruits in the past, only to be disappointed and relegate them every time to the level of wanker many times before. He happily settled into reading the familiar story of Gandalf tricking Bilbo into embarking on a quest with a group of dwarves for riches and glory.

The lag of being many hours away from home, three scheduled stops cross country and the constant hum of DC-3 propellers in his ears caught up with him by the time they landed at the small Lockheed Airport outside Pasadena. The airport only handled a small amount of commercial traffic; its main use was delivering new bomber planes to the British military. England gave the large factory buildings in the distance a weary glance before ducking into yet another cab to take him to another hotel.

England didn't remember tipping the porter or telling him to leave the bags alone once they entered the hotel room. He sank wearily onto the bed, shrugging out of his suit coat and loosening his tie before falling over into the bed still wearing his hat. He also forgot Agent 666's unnecessary instructions to magically cleanse the hotel room as soon as he got there.

Suddenly, a loud jangling bell pierced his scull painfully.

"WAAHHH!" He shouted, jumping out of bed flailing his arms. The horrendous sound happened again and he lunged toward it, only to knock the source from the bedside table onto the floor. England painfully pried one bloodshot eye open when he heard an all too familiar voice shout out of the receiver lying on the floor.

"Hey old man! Hello? … Hello?"

"Bloody hell! Not him!" England groaned, cursing again when he banged his head on the table trying to retrieve the telephone from the floor. Putting the receiver to his ear, he rubbed the spot on his head and muttered, "Sod off."

"Huh? Geez Louise, happy to talk to you too. Why didn't you tell me you were gonna be here, huh?" America asked him.

"Didn't I tell you to sod off?" England wished he could reach through the telephone line and slap the cheerfulness out of his voice.

"Come on, why are you here, and why do I have to find these things out from Japan of all people? He called me and told me he saw you in New York. Caught the red eye did you? Shit! That means you stopped in Albuquerque! I could have met you there!"

"It's too bloody early for this, America. I am not here on war business it's personal. That's why I didn't tell anyone, especially you … what do you mean you could have met me?" England's brain was finally catching up.

"Haha! I'm in Roswell old man! Yep, helping out Professor Goddard with his rocket research; we just launched another one a few days ago!"

"Oh, more bloody rockets." England replied dully. Is that all people in this part of the country cared about?

"Whadaya mean, more rockets?" America suddenly sounded suspicious. "What're you doing here again?"

England looked at the time on his watch, already close to noon. He scratched his head and yawned. "It's personal business, I'm doing a favor for a colleague and meeting someone affiliated with the rocket research program at CalTech, but it's completely unrelated-"

"CalTech …The Suicide Squad!" America shouted into England's ear, making him grunt with pain and hold the receiver away from his head.

"Oh, you've heard of them." England mused. He heard America shouting at someone in the background, then return to the phone.

"I can be there tonight! We'll go get drinks or a bite to eat, okay?"

"What? No! I don't need you here. I told you this is personal business and has nothing to do with this rocket nonsense!"

"Sure it is old man, see you tonight!" America laughed into England's ear as he hung up the phone.

England smashed the phone down into the cradle and rubbed at his face. Great, this was just what he needed. He stood on wobbly legs and looked around the room. Right, first wash up, and then take care of that other business.

"… _Around me flame the pentagrams! Above me shines the six-ray star!"_ England finished the last words of the Lesser Banishing of the Pentagram Ritual and sealed the ritual with the Kabalistic Cross before he opened the magic circle and walked over to where his clothes were laid out. He finished his bath and decided to perform the rite in the nude before dressing and heading out for supper. The room felt better, and the short ceremony gave him an added boost of energy. England buttoned his shirt and reached for his tie just as the phone rang.

"Hello?" He answered, and then blinked with surprise when he heard another English accent greet him. The man identified himself as the high priest of Agape Lodge and informed him a car would be coming round shortly to bring him to a dinner party with the Lodge members.

England finished dressing and put his altar tools and ritual weapons away. No need for the hotel staff to see any of that. He glanced at the clock before sitting down at the small desk in the room to read Parson's dossier again until it was time to leave. Barely an hour passed before a loud, echoing knock sounded at the door. "What? It's too early." He closed the file and rose to see who it could be.

England opened the door and stared. "Bloody hell, America; I told you I have personal business to attend tonight!"

America's grin faded from his face. "Nice to see you too, old man; I thought we were going to grab some grub?"

"You said let's have drinks or supper, I told you I had other plans tonight." England puffed out his cheeks in irritation and stepped back to let America into the room. Other doors were opening as people poked their heads into the corridor to see what the commotion was about. "I'm attending a private dinner party."

"Really?" England internally groaned when he saw the disappointment on America's face. "I wanted to tell you about the rocket research happening in Roswell … hey, are you having dinner with those guys from CalTech?"

"One or two of them, but my reason for meeting them has nothing to do with rocket research, I -"

"Wow! This is great! Can you put in a word for me and see if I can join their team? Goddard launched his last rocket for a while and there's nothing happening out there now." America put on his best puppy dog expression.

"I don't know, I didn't plan on talking about rockets tonight." The look on America's face made England cringe. "Oh alright, I'll ask him, but I doubt the subject of rockets will even come up." He glanced at the clock and reached for his hat. "They are sending a car for me, I need to go down and meet it now."

America sighed sadly. "Well, okay. Can I hang around and chat until you go?" He followed England out the door.

"Fine," England muttered as he shut the door and headed to the lift. "We can get together for dinner tomorrow."

They were silent until they reached the lobby. England and America stepped out of the hotel and stood in front together. The high priest told England to watch for a large black sedan, and that is what he glanced around for as America watched him.

"Japan seems pretty pissed off at both of us."

England glanced at America, "Hmm, seems so. I admit I am concerned for our friend. He's made an alliance that could harm him eventually." England watched the promised car pull up to the curb. "My ride is here, this is good evening, America."

America gave him a sullen look, "Uh yeah, I guess so."

The driver of the car jumped out and both nations looked at him, then stopped and gave him another, longer look. A bit taller and thinner, his hair was a shade darker, but otherwise he bore a strong, uncanny resemblance to America. The young man bounded onto the curb and grinned at both of them. "Which of you is Mr. Kirkland?"

America stared at England. England felt his questioning eyes on him but ignored him. "I am Mr. Kirkland."

The doppelganger looked at America. "Who is this, a new recruit? Ha! We look like we were separated at birth. That's fine, get in!"

"No, wait-" England tried to interrupt, but America only grinned maliciously at him and hopped into the passenger side of the front seat. England using a human name only made him more curious to find out what he was up to. England fumed as he took the back seat and slammed the door shut after him.

The driver introduced himself as one of the new assistants with the CalTech "Jet Propulsion" research group. "We're trying to get away from saying rockets; the army thinks rockets are silly. So brother of a different mother, what's your name?"

"Uh … Jones, Alfred Jones." America glanced back at England, curiosity written all over his face.

England simply glared back at him with arms crossed. "Will this be an issue, bringing an extra dinner guest?"

"Nah, we're always interested in fresh blood." The driver snickered. "Oh yeah, and they decided to hold a Gnostic Mass in your honor tonight after we eat."

"WHAT?" England bellowed, his face a mask of sheer panic. "A Gnostic Mass … tonight?"

America cringed at England's shouting, giving him a puzzled glance. "What's a Gnostic Mass?"

Another snicker came from the driver. "You're in for a treat."

England felt himself starting to hyperventilate. How could the evening possibly get worse?

The sedan pulled into a drive that was already filled with cars. England and America got out of the car and looked at the house. It was large but of an outdated style. They followed the driver inside, England trying to keep himself from going into a full panic, and America more than curious at the people England had come from Europe in the middle of a pretty major war to meet, and he wasn't here about the rockets.

The high priest of the lodge and his wife greeted them when they entered. England recognized him instantly and added his own mental assessment to what Agent 666 had told him. America gave the wife a nervous glance when she smiled and pressed her body very close to his. She had started on the sherry early.

America blushed and chuckled nervously at the middle-aged woman's advances. Drinks were pressed into the newcomer's hands and England was led into the lounge room to meet the other members of Agape Lodge. As much as he tried to regulate his drinking, he found himself sipping at the drink liberally, mostly to hide his nervousness with America there.

America escaped from the high priest's wife and followed his doppelganger to another part of the lounge closer to the bar. Both young men began to talk enthusiastically about rockets. When America mentioned he had just left Roswell his unlikely twin began pumping him for info about Professor Goddard. Suddenly, a woman dramatically entered the room and exclaimed in front of everyone. "Arthur Kirkland? It is you! I haven't seen you since Cefalù!"

England spun around and stared at the familiar face of the actress approaching him. Damn and blast! He would run into someone from old abbey here! "Ah, yes! So it is I." England laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Imagine finding you here!"

"Hollywood keeps me busy … Arthur … you haven't aged a day, Extraordinary! How do you do it?" The middle-aged woman asked him with a started look on her face, before blinking her long eyelashes and recovering her composure again. "You should have seen him at the abbey; one time after the evening ritual he and two ladies retired together and made so much noise the Master Therion himself hollered that them to cease. And there was this other time this unusual albino with the most amazing eyes and charming German accent came to visit … he didn't stay long however, and I can't seem to recall his name … "

England downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. He turned to get a refill at the bar but America was standing directly behind him with a sinister smirk.

"Albino with a German accent, huh …"

England inhaled sharply ready to bellow at him to stuff it when another group of people arrived. Everyone turned to great the newcomers, but England was only interested in the classically tall, dark and handsome man with the pencil mustache – Parsons. The priest brought the young man over to England first thing and they shook hands and made their introductions. America hung close, hoping to be introduced to the man considered part of the best rocket team in the country. He was disappointed however when the announcement was made that it was time to eat, and everyone moved toward the dining room.

The conversation over dinner left America even more confused about England being there. They talked of things like 'astral projection' and laughed over which man had provided the largest portion of "ingredient X" for the most recent batch of Cakes of Light, which would be consumed tonight during the ceremony. America couldn't stop himself and blurted out, "What's ingredient X?" Which made the entire room erupt into laughter.

Except for England, whose face turned bright red and made him reach for his wine glass and drain it. The meal ended far too soon for him as those who were performing the ceremony excused themselves from the table to prepare, and the others began to drift away to make their way upstairs to the large attic, which served as the temple for the Agape Lodge.

England pulled at his tie upon entering the stuffy attic. The odor of incense and flickering candles made the air seem even heavier. He surveyed the temple space, noting the altar on one side of the room, and the curtained doorway on the other. The Deacon's bench and small table behind it completed the space where the ritual drama would take place. He grabbed America who was close enough behind him to keep knocking into him and pulled him aside until everyone else had filed past, deciding the safest place for him to be was as close to the exit as possible. They took the last to seats farthest closest to the door. He didn't need to look at the other nation's face to know he was both confused and curious by what he saw. It looked like a church, but at the same time did not. England mentally ran through the ritual, knew there were parts that would probably shock America, but also knew it was too late and couldn't be helped.

"Uh, why do these people have a church in their house? Couldn't they just go to a real church … at a church?" America was already starting with the questions.

"They could, but this is more like a fraternal organization ... like the freemasons. Other groups besides churches have ceremonies."

"Oh, I see." America said, not understanding it at all. He had a million other questions, but the last people filed into the attic and sat. Some people were removing coats and loosening ties in the warm, close air of the attic. A thin man wearing a simple white robe approached the deacon's bench and began the ritual.

England prayed America would follow his example and remain silent. He didn't know the responses, but he could at least stand, sit and kneel with everyone else where appropriate. The priestess, who was the priest's wife and the two attendants called children came out from behind a curtain and began their portion of the ritual. When the priestess kneeled before the priest and began running her hands up and down the priest's lance in a very suggestive way, America snickered out loud. England gave him a jab in the ribs with his elbow to shut up.

With the priestess's portion of the ritual done, the priest was now dressed in his outer robes and headdress. England groaned inwardly at the priest's cloak, but America didn't contain himself at all and giggled, "He's wearing a curtain!"

England gave him another jab to the ribs. "Be quiet!" He hissed.

They went through the next portion of the ritual without incident until it came time for everyone to kneel and put their hands together above their heads to complete the pose of benediction. America gaped with shock when England and everyone else in the room went into this pose, until England grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him down to the floor.

"AH!" America let out a strangled shout, then sullenly rested back on his knees and watched. There was no way he would put his hands over his head, it looked too stupid. The others glanced his way but the priest and priestess droned on with their speeches uninterrupted.

The moment England dreaded arrived. The priest went back up the steps to the altar to reveal the priestess hidden behind the curtains. America's eyes almost fell out of his head and he shouted out loud pointing at the woman, "WHOA, THAT LADY'S NAKED!"

"Terribly sorry!" England groaned out with complete shame as he grabbed America by the collar and dragged him out of the attic, down the stairs and out into the cool night air in front of the house. America flailed and yelled the entire way until England shoved him away and stood in front of him with both fists balled tight.

"Bloody hell! You immature twit! You act like you've never seen a naked lady before!"

"Not in a room full of other people! What the hell, old man! Bunch of pervs! What kind of church is this? She gave that guys lance a hand job and she stripped naked! What's next, they do the horizontal mambo on stage in front of everyone?" America stared at England with wide eyes, still in shock at what he had just seen. "And just what the hell is ingredient X? Was it in those plates of cookies I saw in there? Are you doing drugs?"

"Oh dear God, I wish I was doing drugs right about now!" England swayed a bit, the cooler air still not penetrating his scull to clear it of the incense and alcohol that still clouded his brain. "This whole situation might actually be funny if I were."

"Whatever old man! France warned me about you, and he was right! I'm catching a cab out of here!" The younger nation spun on his heel and stomped away toward the main road.

England only watched him for a moment before turning back toward the house. He stopped when he found Parsons standing on the porch smoking a cigarette and watching him closely. He followed the other man inside to find the rest of the party already in the lounge having more drinks. No one bothered to ask him what had happened, and England didn't mention it until the young man that bore an uncanny resemblance to America drove him back to the hotel.

"Jack said your friend ditched ya." He stated flatly, parking the car.

"Uh, yes, he did. He didn't understand the ceremony I'm afraid. Sheltered upbringing." Which is entirely my fault, England thought ruefully.

The other man laughed. "I could tell. Jack gave him his number so he can join us the next time we run a test. Kid seems to really like rockets."

"Hmm, I suppose." England answered dully. "Right, thank you for the ride and the evening." He reached for the door handle but stopped when he felt a hand squeeze his thigh. His eyes jerked at the younger, eerily familiar man's face as he opened his coat and showed him the flask inside his breast pocket.

"Jack asked me to take care of ya, since your friend ditched, how about we go up to your room and have a night cap?" The young man squeezed his leg again and gave him a grin.

England's brain was still foggy from booze; he had drunk a lot more sherry upon rejoining the others after America left. He glanced at the flask, then at the boy's face and nodded. "Sure, let's do that."

England's last thought as they entered the hotel lift together was "bloody Cefalù, all over again."

Author's Note: The Gnostic Mass, written by Crowley after attending a Russian Orthodox Mass in Moscow in 1913 is the main celebratory ritual of the EGC. The first time it was performed in its entirety was 1933 in Hollywood, California. Google ingredient X if you really want to know what it is.


	3. Chapter 3

August 5, 1941

England could hear the music blasting from the old theatre before he extracted himself from the cab. As he instructed the driver to wait for him, the man in the front seat grinned. "Lookin' for some fun, Limey?"

"Hardly," the nation sneered. "Strictly business."

"Aw, that's a shame." The driver's grin didn't change. "There's some cute skirts in there."

England glanced at the driver in his rear view mirror and was rewarded with a wink for the brief eye contact. "Just wait here, I'll be out presently." Getting out of the cab he ran into the building and pushed through crowds of loud young people milling about and shouting over the band. He began to wonder how he would even find the idiot when a commotion on the dance floor drew his attention.

"Should have known." England grumbled. He found who he was looking for. Paired with a striking red head with long legs, America gyrated so obscenely England would have blushed if he weren't too busy staring at him. The young lady was dancing just as wildly, thrusting her behind out when America pushed her away, pressing close against him when he pulled her back in. One second they were spinning across the floor, the next Alfred lifted the girl and flipped her over his back. She landed in front of him again and they continued dancing.

"Such an obscene display!" England muttered. There was a group of girls standing close to the wall and moving to the music; as soon as he glanced at them, every girl gave him an encouraging smile hoping he was looking for a dance partner. He scowled and moved on, making sure not to have eye contact with anyone else in the noisy dance hall.

America and the redhead were in the center of the dance floor now, adding plenty of extra moves to their dancing. America rolled the girl off his back, spun her around in front of him and pushed her between his legs, making the girl slide across the dance floor. With a final flourish from the band, America lifted the girl with a wide swing; her long legs went up in the air and her skirt slipped down exposing her legs and her … underwear. England quickly turned away from the disgraceful scene, his face hot with embarrassment.

England stomped toward America when he and the girl ran off the dance floor. Neither one seemed the least bit ashamed the girl's knickers had just been on display for everyone to see. "Amer … er, Alfred! There you are!"

"Hey … er … Arthur, never expected to see you here!" America grinned. This is Evie!"

"Hi!" The pretty redhead smiled at England. "If you need a girl to dance with, my friend Jean over there is tops!"

England glanced over at the dark haired girl leaning against the wall looking bored, until she saw a boy paying attention to her and straightened up, smiling at him encouragingly. "Apologies but I am not here to dance. You on the other hand are coming with me." He grabbed America by the arm and pulled him toward the door.

"What? No way old man! I'm having fun!" America yanked his arm out of England's grasp and walked back to Evie, who was talking to her friend now.

"In three days we need to be on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean for an important meeting. There is no time for this."

"Boat? Atlantic?" America blinked at England, not understanding at all. "I'm going to the JATO test tomorrow with the Suicide Gang. Like hell you're gonna make me miss that!"

The band started playing the intro to another song. Evie and Jean both made a point of giving them 'we're ready to dance' looks. Evie looked especially irritated at losing her dance partner.

"Blast! That test! I forgot." It was nearly impossible to avoid the talk about rockets now that he lived at Agape Lodge, the house owned by Jack Parsons. The OTO camp had moved in after he bought the house. Located in a quiet gated community on Orange Street in Pasadena, England found it ironic that the man who designed the passenger train coaches used in France had originally owned this house. Germany made a point of finding the specific railway coach the Treaty of Versailles was signed in, forced France to sign his unconditional surrender in it before burning it to ash all under the orders of Germany's boss. The new Parsons home had at one time been elegant, but was now in need of some upkeep. It didn't matter to the lodge members who called it home now. It was large and afforded plenty of room for all of them.

England scowled, but he knew it would be pointless to argue. "Fine, but after that we must leave immediately to meet that boat."

"Whatever." America muttered, frowning when Evie and Jean ran onto the dance floor with two boys in Navy uniforms. "Damn it old man, there go the girls."

"Forget the girls, you're coming with me!" England said that with his, 'don't you dare defy me' tone of voice.

America glared at him, but he followed him out of the dance hall into the warm air outside. England's tie was already loosened, but he instinctively loosened it more as he scanned the curb for the cab he had left there. "This heat is appalling." Finding the car, he walked over to it without looking back at America.

The other dutifully followed, knowing there was no point to argue. "You should ditch all those heavy clothes and dress for the climate … which brings me to the next question, why are you still in California, isn't there a war going on back home?"

England asked himself that same question every bloody day he was still here. The day after the disaster at the Gnostic Mass, England received a message from Agent 007 that the German high command issued a secret statement; Operation Barbarossa would commence in a matter of days. He had crushed the note in his hand before stuffing it into his pocket. Germany was a fool to take on Russia, but it would eventually work to the allies' advantage. England knew from personal experience it would take time for Russia to react to the treachery, but when he did …

Three weeks later, Germany invaded Belarus, Lithuania and Ukraine and took control of those countries on his way to Moscow. With the threat of invasion of his country gone, England was now given the task of making sure things progressed the proper way with America, which included having him on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean by August Nine. Maybe then he could finally go back to England and be of some real use. He looked out the window and gave everything passing by a glum look. "After this meeting in the Atlantic I'll go home, no matter what."

"Aw, I was beginning to think you liked it here. Love America so much you can't bear to leave." America's grin in the dark had a chilling effect.

"Not bloody likely." England looked away and didn't speak again until they arrived at the Agape Lodge.

When they arrived there were several cars parked in the drive, which made England internally groan; what were they cooking up tonight? He paid the driver who had never stopped smirking, and grumbled at America to hurry and get out of the taxi.

America looked at the cars with a worried frown. "Oh, don't tell me you're doing that naked lady party again! That was nuts!"

"Eh? What the devil, naked lady party – No!" England glared. "Nothing like that is going on. Mr. Parsons most likely is leading another of his discussions on Thelema. They're well attended."

"Thelma discussions? Who's Thelma?" America's face quickly changed to a grin. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed a fuming England into the house.

"Thelema, not Thelma you dolt!" he stepped into the foyer of the house and waited for America to join him. "Everyone seems to be in the lounge." He could smell incense as soon as he walked in.

A young girl bounced toward them smiling. "93 Arthur!" She glanced at America and stopped in her tracks to give him a long look up and down. "And 93 … What's your name?"

"Uh … Alfred. Hello." America said with a flat voice. He gave the girl a glancing look before directing his gaze at England.

"93, Betty." England murmured, ignoring America's eyes boring into him. "Is Jack holding one of his meetings?"

"Oh yeah, but he's doing a working now. Something about they won't let him recite the IHymn to Pan/I like he usually does before a launch so he's doing it tonight instead." The girl giggled. "Molena's concerned about making the right impression with the brass. You're one of the guys helping Jack out at GALCIT, right?" She grabbed America's arm and pulled him into the lounge.

"Betty … wait!" England blurted out as he followed quickly behind them. He stumbled into the lounge and found most of the membership of the lodge there. Some in robes, some still in their street clothes standing around the altar set up on the coffee table.

"93 Arthur!" Jack Parsons grinned at England when he caught sight of him. "You're just in time, our operation will benefit with the addition of your energies." He squinted at America standing next to England. "Jones, right? Surprised to see you here. Come in, you're welcome too."

England walked slowly into the room while America hung back and stared at them. England inwardly seethed that he didn't have a chance to drag America upstairs to the room he was staying in at the Lodge and keep him away from this. Couldn't be helped now, and he did promise no naked women this time.

America's eyes were riveted on the item in the center of the altar. England realized this must be one of the rocket devices they were going to demonstrate to the "brass" tomorrow morning. He gave it a curious glance, then his eyes snapped up to Parson's face as he began to intone the poem England could recite in his sleep …

_**Thrill with lissome lust of the light,  
>O man! My man!<br>Come careering out of the night  
>Of Pan! Io Pan!<br>Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea  
>From Sicily and from Arcady!<br>Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards  
>And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,<br>On a milk-white ass, come over the sea  
>To me, to me …<strong>_

The poem immediately charged the air in the room as people began to move with the rhythm of the words. England was too caught up with the energy being raised to notice anything else, but the sharp inhale of breath behind him made him snap out of the spell Parsons was casting.

_**Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake  
>In the grip of the snake.<br>**_

England had watched Parsons do what he was doing so many times it no longer registered with him as something bizarre. The man's robe was open in front and he stroked his erection to the beat of the poem everyone in the room chanted. The voices together rose with intensity as they reached the end of the poem, concentrating the cone of power on the device on the table in front of them.

_**The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne  
>To death on the horn<br>Of the Unicorn.  
>I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!<br>I am thy mate, I am thy man,  
>Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,<br>Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.  
>With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks<br>Through solstice stubborn to equinox.  
>And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend<br>Everlasting, world without end,  
>Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,<br>In the might of Pan.  
>Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!<strong>_

With a subtle moan that shook the walls of the room, Parsons achieved an orgasm. England turned around so he didn't have to see where his release landed but he had a good idea where. That was when he noticed America no longer stood behind him. As soon as the magical circle opened he took off for the open front door and cursed under his breath, hoping that he hadn't run too far. With painful relief he ran into America's back as he stood just outside the front door.

He looked over his shoulder when England plowed into him. "Oh, are you finished in there?" He didn't sound happy at all.

England rubbed his nose but didn't look at him. "Aye, they are."

Still not looking at him, America looked back at the street. "France has warned me more than once you're into some kinky shit, but that … "

England crossed his arms. There was no defending what just happened because America could stand inside a magic circle for the next thousand years and never see the cone of magical energy they had just raised. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away scowling. "What just happened was a sort of prayer."

"Masturbating all over the JATO is prayer? Why can't he just say a Hail Mary and be done with it? Everyone keeps calling this place a church but it's no church I've ever seen before. And what's with that bullshit with the numbers? You say 93 all the time instead of hello like normal people. You have some weird ideas, old man! Dancing with a pretty redhead is disgusting, but jerking off in a room full of people is religion?"

"How pretty was the redhead?" Parsons' voice asked from behind them.

England and America turned around and faced him. He had changed into dark trousers and a plain white shirt.

"Smokin'," America muttered. The look in his eyes didn't match the grin on his face as he glared at Parsons.

"Yeah? We like redheads. Bring her with you next time you visit. I'll answer your question with another question; do you think there is only one method of prayer? England can fill you in on the Gematria." Parsons took a drag from his cigarette and grinned at America's stunned face. "Don't look so shocked. I know what he is. I know what you are too. Betty's making martinis, come in and join us."

England and America watched the rocket scientist disappear back into the house. America gave England a bemused look. "How did he find that out, you tell him?"

England grimaced and shook his head. "No, I did not tell him, the man who asked me to come here did! Parsons figured it out on his own from there." He let out a long sigh. "I'm not happy about it either but I doubt he is going to blurt it anyone. So far he hasn't."

"Well that's swell old man," America grumbled. "Are we going back inside to drink?"

"Do whatever you want," England muttered, opening the door. He followed the other nation inside but America ran up the stairs instead of heading to the lounge. Scowling, he joined the others for a drink before going to the room he had been given by the lodge. He found America sitting on the bed with his book on Gematria and scribbling numbers on a pad of paper. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I found a book of yours on the table and decided to check this Gematria nonsense out." America erased a set of figures on the paper and started his calculation over. "Why would you waste time doing this?"

England put his hands on his hips. "It's not a waste of time! Finding numerical equivalents to words and phrases has specific uses for magical work!"

"That's nuts old man. Go get another martini it might help." He tilted his head at the numbers on the paper. "Huh, that's interesting."

"What's interesting?" He was quite curious to see what America was doing, but so far he hadn't bothered to show him.

"I figured out the number for your name. It's 166."

England sat on the edge of the bed. "I know that."

"Of course you do. Anyway, I started playing around with that to find other words or phrases that have the same numerical value and I have an interesting list in front of me," America let out a snide chuckle.

"Go on." He was already guessing what America had found.

"Let's see … twin towers, september eleven, one world order, devil satan dragon, shit hits the fan, love is in the air, bats in the belfry … The last one fits you best."

"Har har," England snatched the book away and put it back on the table. The sound of a creaking bed from a nearby room began to drift through the walls.

America stared at England. "Oh boy, this place sure is more wholesome than that dance hall." He snickered and tossed the pad of paper on the floor.

"Bugger off!" England snarled. "I assure you I do not enjoy being here. I would have rather stayed in the room I had at the hotel. Cefalù …"

"Then why didn't you? And what the hell is a cefalu?"

"Cefalù is a where, not a what." England rubbed his eyes.

"A where?"

"Aye, it's in Sicily." England fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "The Master Therion established an abbey in the hills outside the village, or tried to. This place doesn't come close to what happened there but … it has its moments."

"What happened in Sicily?"

"Too much. Anyway, Romano's boss finally had enough and deported everyone. It seems Italians have no sympathy for Englishmen pursuing their True Will. From time to time I still hear Romano tell stories about the place being cursed and filled with demons."

America laughed. "Sounds like him." The bed creaking noise stopped. "So you were at this place, and I think I remember someone mentioning Prussia was there."

"He briefly passed through. Really wasn't his kind of abbey." England yawned. "I am for bed."

Neither of them got much sleep that night. There were too many random noises in the house that made America sit up in bed and stare into the darkness with wide eyes. His constant thrashing about kept England from getting much sleep at all. When Parsons knocked on the door of the room and poked his head in to see America spooning England and his mouth wide open and drooling he chuckled and gave a very groggy England a wink. "Hey you lovebirds, time to go."

"Lovebirds! What?!" America sat up in bed just as Parsons closed the bedroom door.

"Oh, then you didn't want to cuddle? I'm crushed." England's sarcasm clearly came through as he scratched his bare stomach and stumbled over to the clothes he left out to wear.

"Don't be sick!" America threw back the covers on the bed and stomped his feet into his trousers.

England and America dressed quickly and joined Parsons and the others in the enormous kitchen. They hurried through breakfast, as they still had to drive out to the airfield in the desert where the test would take place. When they arrived everyone was given a job to get the rocket devices ready for the test. England helped America assemble the small rockets. He was restless, because the clock was ticking and they needed to be on the other side of the country in a matter of hours.

"Brass is here!" Parsons shouted to everyone. They had just finished outfitting a small propeller plane with the JATOs. England stood back and watched the American military talk to the "Suicide Squad" as they were referred. Suddenly there was movement, and a man climbed into the cockpit of the plane.

England would never forget what he saw next. As the JATOs fired the plane suddenly shot up into the air almost perpendicular to the ground. He stood there with mouth agape while the others whooped and cheered at the amazing ascent of the plane. England glanced at the military officers also watching the test and saw the looks of satisfaction on their faces.

America bounced over to England, "Didja see it? Didja? Wasn't that the greatest thing you've ever seen?!"

England's eyes were back on the plane; now that the jet fuel was spent the plane had leveled off. The pilot already banked it to bring it in to land. "Aye, I saw it, and so did you, which means it's time to get the bloody hell out of here." He grabbed America's shirt collar and dragged him away from the others to a waiting car.

"What? Wait! No! There's more, they're gonna do another one!" America kicked and tried to drag his feet in the ground.

"We don't have time for that! We have to be on a boat in the Atlantic Ocean in a matter of hours!" England shoved America into the back seat of the car and followed him in, slamming the door shut. "Drive!"

They barely made the flight in time to board the USS IAugusta/I and set sail for the coast of Newfoundland. England stood on the bow of the ship staring at the horizon until he sighted the ship they were there to meet sailing into the small bay.

America stood next to him watching as the HMS IPrince of Wales/I pulled up alongside. "Hey, that ship is one of yours!"

England shook his head. "So astute."

"What's that?" America glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

"Exactly." England straightened up when he saw his boss coming on board the American ship.

America watched their bosses meet for the first time; noticing how much shorter Churchill was compared to Roosevelt. What most Americans didn't know was that the president was paralyzed. Even leaning heavily on another man's arm and holding a cane, he stood a head taller than the British prime minister. "I'm not sure I like what's happening here. This isn't supposed to get me into your war, is it?"

England watched the event happening before them. After a long pause as both men sized each other up, Churchill spoke and they shook hands. "My war? You make it sound like I own it?"

"You know what I mean. I don't like this deal with my oil tankers bypassing Japan and going to Russia. Japan is going to raise holy hell"

"Let him. The point of all of this is to stop empire building in the world."

"Funny to hear you say that."

"Why?" England's tone was defensive. "Do you think it was lots of fun? I'll have you know building an empire is hard work, expensive as hell. You eventually lose it too." He looked away, scowling. "But it has to end some time. If we don't do something about it now … "

America glanced at him when England stopped talking. " … Someone else will do something about it later?"

"That's about right." England faced out to sea again. "I'll be going home after this."

America grinned. "Good, you're a pain in the ass. Too hot for you in California anyway."

England shook his head. "No, that's not it. I fear once I return I'll be sent someplace even hotter." He didn't finish his thought out loud, but kept the rest to himself. America was going to be in this war sooner than later; what was happening right was to make sure of it. As for Jack Parsons and the Master Therion, he sincerely hoped he was finished dealing with that problem.

"Wanker," he muttered under his breath.

Author's Note – I can't believe it took me three months to write this. It's been a busy summer.

JATO – Jet Assisted Take Off was the term applied to small rockets that could be strapped to airplanes to speed up their take off time. The purpose was to assist planes that had to get off the ground on much smaller runways than the plane was designed for. Jack Parsons and the 'Suicide Squad' developed these for the U.S. Military and tested them on August 6, 1941. The Pentagon approved JATO production and made the 'Suicide Squad' rich. They incorporated in 1942 and became Aerojet, a company still headquartered in California today.

Parsons according to the two biographies I've read recited Crowley's Hymn to Pan before every rocket test launch. The method described for raising magical energy in the story was a common practice of his.

The boat America and England had to catch was the beginning of what became known as the Atlantic Charter.

Gematria is an ancient practice of assigning numbers to letters and calculating totals of names, words and phrases. It was originally developed to find hidden messages from God in Hebrew scripture. I used an online calculator, gematrixDOTorg to find the number for England's name.

Thanks for reading. The story will continue.


End file.
